Despite the progress of your changes, you still find yourself momentarily stunned to see your penis all but gone, barely a nub between tight, petal-like folds of flesh you've only ever glimpsed on online imageboards. You tease the delicate, exotic lips, sweaty with a rush of arousal like nothing you're ever felt. Instead of a rising, rigid peak, you feel an inexorable, slick wave crash through you. You're getting wet and it's like a frantic, urgent ache. Like a drip from a faucet rising up through a pipe, and there is nothing you can do to stop its flow.
You tease your achingly-hard nipples before you resolve that the water you've consumed needs to go. Straddling the bowl, you nervously unclench muscles with only the phantom memory that a male phallus should be there. Feeling like you're at the edge of a cliff with comforting rocks missing beneath you, you take the plunge. An urgent, aching flow, which feels like a sloppy, spraying stream right from your bladder, fills the bowl. When you are done, you feel more feminine than you can possibly imagine, with the sliding wetness of your arousal becoming an impatient ache and the dripping release of your bladder.
Nervously, you expect that surely the water you consumed has passed from your body. What you neglect to consider is how long water remains in the body, slipping into the basic functions of everything, merging with the water already there. What you peed out was merely the leftovers of what you drank before. You could no more filter out this water than track down a single bacteria in all of your blood. To make matters worse, you further solidify things with a full, automatic swig of your bottle. Only when it's down your throat do you curse what you've done with a high, whispered soprano.
What scuff of facial hair you once felt has vanished, replaced by smooth, sleek skin. An instant later, your hair warms your ears and drapes over your eyes. Nervous to leave the stall and assess how much you have changed, you first attend to the wet spot in your groin. Front to back or back to front? Old sex-ed lessons depart from you as you hope that won't have to worry long about the consequences of getting it wrong.
Fumbling with your male clothes, you feel as though you've gotten someone else's outfit. They are both too small and too desperately big for you. Your boxers strain against your hourglass hips while the flap leaves your new parts practically exposed. Only by cinching the tightest notch on your belt do you have any chance of your pants staying up. Even then, they slide around the wild slopes of your hips and waist. Your top, though sloppy and oversized, at least covers you. However, the flesh on your chest has swollen. Though barely beyond a B-cup, your hard, jutting areolas lewdly announce themselves against the material of your top.
Just seeing them pressing out from your chest renews your arousal, as a slippery feeling finally arrives between your legs. No position saves you from the kind of embarrassment you never thought you would feel aside from a rogue hardon. Plus, the sight triggers a feedback loop that only urges the sensitive flesh to become ever more turgid.
Holding your light-transformed bag in front of you as an awkward shield, you manage to stagger your way out of the stall, surely a brightly-blushing oddity for all to see. Fortunately, you are the only restroom goer at the moment. This affords you a private gaze at the long mirror behind the sinks.
You look like a woman who accidentally put on her brother's clothes. You can wear them, but just barely. Gently groomed dark hair reaches down to your shoulders. Your eyes and face are adorable, perfectly smooth and undeniably feminine. You look so cute. Before you can cry or stagger out of the bathroom, a stall opens and a looming, leggy blond with the presence of a model steps out. Her heels clack a few times before she stops in front of you.
She seems really tall but can't be much taller than you were before, especially with her heels. Slowly, she approaches you from the side and wraps an arm around your shoulder.
"Honey, are you alright? Did you just Shift?"
You notice her sky-blue painted nails and the way the strap of her black, leather purse splits her soft, rounded bust in her red-and-blue striped top. So much of her feminine stomach is revealed between the hem of it and her pleated, jean skirt with a bunched up bit of lace at the bottom. You do a double-take as you notice the presence of a masculine bulge dipping below the fringe of her skirt.
Your tongue dangles for a moment and you feel yourself salivate before you shut it and seal your lips. The pretty...shemale?...still holding your shoulder teases, "See something you like now, sweetie?"
She giggles and apologizes as you feel your face has never been hotter with embarrassment. You soon realize that she isn't a rarity as other leggy, gorgeous women sporting a subtle but undeniable lump beneath their skirts come and go.
Nervously, you fumble for your flashlight, but your shaky hands drop it into the basin and, before you can retrieve it, the infrared sensor sprays it with a steady stream. As you whimper, the blond dries her hands and lingers at your side. She helps you dry off the light but manipulating it produces no illumination, blue, pink, or otherwise.
You curse to yourself, your mind racing with fear about how much you might've screwed up your life and maybe the world just playing with this thing. All the while, you feel the blond's long fingers along your sensitive, shapely shoulders. Your male arousal feeds into your female presence, and you nearly swoon.
After she helps you out of the restroom, you both sit on a wooden bench off to the side. Calmly, she asks if you grew up in a "Static" family. Another word you don't understand. You bow your head with genuine embarrassment.
She asks if you have your phone with you. You pull out of your transformed bag, now a rose gold iPhone with a Hello Kitty case. She enters a site for you to look at.
It tells you everything you need to know about how the world is now. There are no more boys or men, just one gender where everyone develops a small penis at birth. At puberty, girls and "shebirds" develop (the idea of "maleness" seems not to exist). Girls lose their penis for a vagina and shebirds get more model-like with bulging dicks and descending testicles. You notice that the pee hole on shebirds is near the taint, at the base of the balls, explaining why they still need to sit to pee. You peer at the female figure on the restroom sign and realize you missed a rounded protrusion from the bottom of the stick person's skirt.
Just half a bottle of water has changed your life and just one light on a sign has changed the world. You find Static means someone who tries to resist changing one way or the other due to religious views and often suddenly explodes into full femininity, which is known as the Shift.
The blond gives you time to read and says her name as Chrissy.
With the weight of so many changes, you take time to consider what to do next.